E73    3-Mb 


GIFT  OF 


SONGS  EN   ROUTE 


BY 
HESTER  DICKINSON 


BOSTON 

SHERMAN,    FRENCH   &  COMPANY 
1911; 


COPYRIGHT,  1911 
SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &>  COMPANY 


TO 

INA  COOLBRITH 


340128 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INVOCATION        1 

CALIFORNIA        3 

THE  NEW  YEAR 4 

OUT  OP  THE  DEEP 5 

PRAYER  OF  THE  FERN 6 

IN  MY  GARDEN 7 

FATHER  AND  CHILD 8 

HEREAFTER        11 

UNCONFESSED 12 

A    PRAYER 13 

OVERHEARD        14 

ON   LONELY  SHORE .  16 

IF  YOU  KNOW 18 

DAYBREAK 20 

BARBARA 21 

OUR  LADY  OF  SONG 23 

"IN  THE  OLD  LIKENESS" 25 

MY  LITTLE  LOVE 27 

MARGUERITE 29 

HOW  SHALL  IT  BE? 31 

UNDER 34 

FOR  LOVE'S  SWEET  SAKE  .......  36 

TO  THE  SPIRIT  OF  SONG 38 

DOWERED        ............  40 

ON  THE  SHORELAND 43 

BEFORE   THE  BALL .45 

TO  SARAH  B.  COOPER 48 

THROUGH    THE   SNOW 49 

MY    GIRL    .           .           •     .  51 


I 

AWAY   FROM   ME 53 

IX     EXTREMIS 54 

LAST  WORDS 55 

WINTER  VIOLETS  ..........  57 

LOST 58 

IF 60 

A  LESSON 61 

HAND  AND  HEART 62 

HER  ANSWER 64 

WHEN  THE  SHADOWS  COME  AGAIN  ...  66 

UNMASKED 67 

ELLEANORE 68 

WITH  PANSIES 70 

IN  THE  WALTZ 71 

CAGED 73 

HITHERTO—HENCEFORTH 75 

BETWEEN  TWO  YEARS  .  77 


SONGS  EN  ROUTE 


INVOCATION 

BREAK,  O  sunshine,  over  my  face, 

Through  the  mist  of  this  mystical  time, 
Till  I   catch   your   sparkle   and   strength   and 
grace 

And  weave  them  into  a  rhyme; 
For,  under  the  passionate  pulse  of  my  feet, 

The  rapturous  roses  grow, 
And  life  is  sweeter  than  all  things  sweet 

That  ever  the  saints  may  know ; 
For  how  can  they  guess  what  Paradise  means, 

Who  never  its  calm  heights  gained 
Through  clash  of  cruelest  battle-scenes, 

Where  the  chalice  of  death  was  drained? 

Break,  O  sunshine,  where  smiles  belong! 

And  beat,  O  beautiful  sea, 
The  happiest  time  of  a  happier  song, 

Than  ever  of  old  to  me! 
And  leave  your  moaning,  as  I  leave  mine, 

In  the  dark  of  desolate  years, 
Leaping  with  laughter  to  life  divine, 

Forgetful  of  treasons  and  tears ! 
Sing,  O  billows !  and  while  I  dream 

In  the  new-born,  summery  time, 
Let  me  weave   your  grandeur   and  grace   and 
gleam, 

With  the  threads  of  a  rollicking  rhyme. 

[i] 


Merrily  pipe  your  merriest  notes, 

O  bonnie  bright  birds,  to  me, 
Till  I  catch  the  tenderest  tune  that  floats 

Between  the  sun  and  the  sea. 
Lean  from  your  far-away  fathomless  place, 

O  luminous,  limitless  skies, 
Till  I  catch  the  grace  of  my  little  one's  face, 

And  the  glow  of  her  glorious  eyes ; 
So  shall  my  soul  soar,  singing  in  glee, 

Where  never  a  bird  may  climb, 
And  something  sweeter  than  sun  or  sea 

Shall  shine  in  my  rapturous  rhyme. 


[2] 


CALIFORNIA 

0  LAND  of  mine,  sweet  land  of  mine, 
A-bloom  beside  the  sunset  sea, 

An  exile  from  thy  holy  shrine — 

I  call  to  thee  and  only  thee. 
Forget  the  lure  that  led  afar 

To  snows  that  smite  and  suns  that  slay, 
And  from  thy  place  where  pleasures  are, 

Forgiving — turn  thy  face1  my  way. 

1  hear  in  dreams  thy  pulsing  palms 
Sing  low  to  brooding  mother-birds ; 

And  catch  the  swing  of  saintly  psalms 
From  scores  of  Love's  unwritten  words. 

I  see  thy  poppies  wind  and  weave 
A  carpet  for  thy  daughters'  dance, 

And  all  thy  sun-browned  sons  achieve 
The  golden  glory  of  romance. 

I  wake  to  read  a  sweeter  scroll; 

To  watch  the  world-wide  ways  secern ; 
For,  through  the  aisles  of  sense  and  soul, 

Thy  call  rings  clear — "Return,  return !" 
And  so — and  so — from  sea  to  sea, 

With  Love's  deep  rapture  numb  and  dumb — 
Tho'  Prodigal— to  thee— to  thee— 

Great  mother  mine,  I  come,  I  come! 


[3] 


THE  NEW  YEAR 

GREET  not  the  Year  with  a  sigh  for  sin; 

For  loss  of  power  or  pelf; 
But  draw  and  drink  from  the  well  within — 

The  well  that  is  thou — thyself ! 
For  a  sin  forsworn  may  be  sin  forgiven, 

Its  memory  strength  and  shield; 
And  loss   may   be   cross  that   shall   reach  the 
heaven 

That  never  is  far  a-field. 


[4] 


OUT  OF  THE  DEEP 

UNBLUSHING,  she  bears  our  inspection : 

Dawn  lighteth  her  brow  and  her  breast; 
And  all  her  fair,  dimpled  perfection 

Is  folded  in  raiment  of  Rest. 
Birds  sing  in  the  branches  above  her; 

Leaves  laugh  as  they  sandal  her  feet; 
And,  hark,  to  the  voice  of  her  lover ! 

"At  last  I  may  claim  you,  my  sweet. 

"At  last  the  wild  rain  of  my  kisses 

May  deluge  your  hands  and  your  hair, 
For  I  love  you ! — and  nothing  amiss  is, — 

Nor  presence,  nor  purpose,  nor  prayer. 
We  are  done,  dear,  with  famine  and  fever; 

The  pain  and  the  peril  are  past, 
And — nothing  to  shame  or  to  sever, 

You  are  mine,  O  my  love,  at  the  last !" 

Two  faces  laid  closely  together, 

As  never  in  life  they  have  lain ; 
Two  hearts  in  the  passionful  weather, 

Unmindful  of  passion  or  pain. 
Birds  build  in  the  branches  above  them, 

And  sing  there  the  summer-time  long; 
While  I — that  remember  and  love  them 

Sing,  too, — with  my  soul  in  the  song. 


PRAYER  OF  THE  FERN 

I  AM  a  Soul  that  cries  to  thee 
From  out  the  green  that  hideth  me ; 

Cries  with  beseeching:  "Give  me  care, 

A  little  love,  a  little  prayer, 
A  little  of  thy  strength  to  live, 
To  suffer  much  and  to  forgive" ; 

That,  as  thou  hast — I,  too,  shall  gain 

The    heights    where    Peace    may    conquer 
Pain. 


[6] 


IN  MY  GARDEN 

I  KNEEL  for  the  flower  I  love  the  best, 
And  find  you,  fleetest  of  birds  that  be, — 

With  a  broken  wing  and  a  bleeding  breast, 
And  eyes  beseeching  a  grace  from  me. 

Here,  here  on  my  heart,  O  brother  of  mine, 
Lie — still  and  safe — while  the  Plan  fulfills ; 

For  we — we  are  one  in  the  Mind  Divine. 

And  we  pause  or  we  pass  as  the  Wise  One 
wills. 

Your  eyes — that  are  searching  me  through,  my 
dear, 

Are  flashing  glintings  of  long  ago; 
But  whether  yourself  that  is  prisoner  here, 

Be  prince  or  poet,  I  may  not  know. 

But  I  think  we  are  workers  with  Him,  with  Him 
Who  knoweth  our  weakness,  our  sins  untold; 

And  that  all  we  find  in  the  world-ways  dim, 
In  Great  Love's  crucible  gleams  pure  gold. 

You  are  passing! — Are  gone!  My  lips  lean 
low 

To  the  metaline  sheen  of  your  plumage  gay ; 
But  7  follow,  follow!  and  know — and  know 

I  shall  find  you  again,  somewhere,  someday. 

[7] 


FATHER  AND  CHILD 

GRAY-HAIRED  and  brown-haired  they  stood  where 

the  sunrise, 

Wove  of  its  wonder  their  girdle  and  crown, 
He,  with  his  old  heart  and  face  to  his  grain- 
land, 

She  with  her  young  heart   and  face  to  the 
town. 

"Good-bye!"  he  whispered — his  voice  sounding, 

somehow, 

As  if  it  climbed  from  a  prison  of  pain, 
To  catch  the   Christ-comfort — "May  our  God 

keep  you 
Strong  for  His  service  in  body  and  brain. 

"Where  you  are  going  it  may  be  they  need  you 
More  than  I  need  you,  my  own  little  one ! 

Harvest  fields  whiten  I  know,  in  the  distance, 
And  workers  are  few,  darling,  under  the  sun. 

"So,  though  my  days  may  be  lone,  shall  I  shirk, 

dear, 
The  burden  God  sends  through  this  parting 

with  you? 
Nay,  nay!  since  somewhere,  not  here,  there  is 

work,  dear, 

For  your  small  hands  and  your  large  heart 
to  do." 

[8] 


Silent  he  grew  then.     She  from  his  bosom 

Slid;  kneeled  on  the  hard  earth;  bowed  her 

bright  head, 
And — "Never  again  shall  I  kneel  thus  before 

you 
This  side  the  Better  Land,  father,"  she  said. 

"Give    me    your    blessing!"     Quickly    he    an 
swered — 

Barring  the  brown  of  her  beautiful  hair 
With  his  pale  fingers — "Bless  you,  my  darling ! 

May  you  be  ever  the  great  Father's  care. 

"Stainless  and  white  be  your  garments  of  liv 
ing; 

Well-done  the  labor  God  gives  you  to  do ; 
Sweet  may  your  songs  and  brave  may  your  heart 

be, 

In  storm  or  in  sunshine,  the  whole  journey 
through." 

Gray-haired  and  brown-haired  they  parted  that 
morning; 

Never  a  tender  thing  grew  at  their  feet ; 
Never  a  happy  thing  troubled  the  silence 

With  a  low  singing  of  anything  sweet. 

Only  God's  heaven  of  comfort  above  them ; 

Only  God's  heaven  of  hope  in  their  hearts; 
Only  God's  heaven  of  faith  for  their  armor, 

Saving  and  shielding  from  deathfulest  darts. 
!  [9] 


Old  hands  and  young  hands  forever  divided; 

Old  heart  and  young  heart  for  aye  undefiled ; 
Singing  the  snows  from  their  burden  of  crosses, 

Calm  to  the  Christ-Land,  go  father  and  child. 


[10] 


HEREAFTER 

I  KNOW  not  how  it  fares  with  thee, 

Dear  Heart,  this  happy  morning  hour; 
But  bird  and  bee  are  glad  with  me 

And  sweet  is  every  opening  flower. 
No  shadow  dims  the  perfect  sky 

That  listens  as  the  hills  rejoice, 
And  all  of  pain  has  passed  me  by — 

Save  that  I  cannot  hear  thy  voice. 
But  I  hear  the  winds  of  Laughter, 

And  I  hear  the  waves  of  Play, 
And  each  one  sings — "Hereafter 

Cometh  a  happier  day." 


UNCONFESSED 

I 

ACROSS  the  fields  of  summer  bloom 

A  wind  went,  slow  and  sweet, 
To  lay  his  burden  of  perfume 

Low  at  my  lady's  feet. 
The  brooklet  murmured,  "Stay,  my  dear !" 

The  white  rose  whispered,  "Wait!" 
And  the  red  rose  hinted,  "I  am  here, 

Close  to  the  garden  gate !" 

II 

But  on  and  away  the  wild  wind  wTent, 

Humming  a  love-song  old, 
Till  he  found  my  lady,  and  died  content, 

Kissing  her  locks  of  gold. 
The  brooklet's  murmur  may  reach  her  ear, 

The  white  rose  climb  to  her  breast, 
And  the  red  rose  follow !  but  I  stay  here, 

With  my  one  love  unconfessed. 


[12] 


A    PRAYER 

FATHER  in  heaven !  the  whispering  hours 
Smile  in  the  sunlight  on  shoreland  and  sea; 
Bird-songs  are  glad  in  the  fair  forest  bowers ; 
Nature  is  great  in  her  glory  of  thee! 
Billows  and  breezes  Te  Deum  are  blending; 
Myriad  voices  thy  praises  repeat ; 
So  let  our  souls'  grateful  incense  ascending 
Mix  with  the  music  of  saints  at  thy  feet. 

Father  in  heaven! — when  storms  are  about  us, 
When  the  sweet  sunlight  is  shut  from  our  sight, 
When   foes   from  within   and   foes    from  with 
out  us, 

Fold  us  in  fetters  of  blackness  and  blight, 
Listening  kindly  to  all  our  complaining, 
Lighting  the  dark  of  the  dangerous  way, — 
Be  thou  the  rock  of  our  spirits'  sustaining, 
Be  thou  our  shelter  by  night  and  by  day. 

Father  in  heaven!  when  lightly  upon  us 
Lie  all  the  coronal  kisses  of  Death, 
When,  like  a  vision,  dear  faces  fade  from  us, 
And  all  of  earth  fails  with  our  fluttering  breath, 
Shine  thou,  serene,  from  the  Paradise-portal, 
Over  the  black  of  the  billows  we  cross, 
And  bear  us  to  bowers  of  beauty  immortal, 
Stained  with  no  shadow  of  love  or  of  loss. 

[13] 


OVERHEARD 

AN  orchard  old  and  gnarly,  and  a  wood 

Stretching  away  behind, 
With  birds  that  in  the  shadows  build  and  brood, 

Sweet'ning  the  summer  wind. 

A  cottage  to  the  southward,  gray  and  old; 

Northward  the  waving  grain, 
With  thirsty  bees  from  blossoms  manifold 

Drinking  the  recent  rain. 

Above,  light  clouds  across  the  perfect  blue 

Of  skies  serene  and  sweet; 
Below,  a  well-worn  winding  path  where  true 

And  happy  lovers  meet. 

Two  faces  where  a  grape  vine  bendeth  low 

Over  a  breadth  of  balm ; 
Two  voices  with  their  quiet  ebb  and  flow; 

Two  hands  turned  palm  to  palm. 

I  tell  not  what  I  chance  to  overhear, 

Nor  to  the  night  nor  day ; 
I  only  say:  "God  bless  and  keep  you,  dear!" 

Then  turn,  and  go  my  way. 

They  age  so  soon !  so  soon  forget  their  play, 

These  little  ones  of  ours  ! 
To-day  betrothed — and  only  yesterday 

Were  babes  among  the  flowers. 
[14] 


But  if,  forevermore  they  walk,  with  Love, 
The  ways  made  smooth  or  rough, 

Facing  up  fair  the  one  white  gate  above, 
Perhaps  it  is  enough. 


[15] 


ON  LONELY  SHORE 

ON  lonely  shore,  death — sweet  and  full  of  calm, 
Where  strong  sea  waves  made  diapason  true, 

I  heard  the  low,  slow  swelling  of  a  psalm, 

And,   turning,  looked  through   tear-wet  lids 
at  you. 

All  your  brown  hair  blown  backward  from  your 
face, 

All  your  true  heart  within  your  patient  eyes, 
All  your  great  soul  in  atmosphere  of  grace, 

A-shine  with  splendor  born  of  sacrifice. 

Prone  at  your  feet  I  fell, — and  from  the  sod 
Cried:  "Thou  hast  suffered!     Give,  O,  give 
to  me 

The  secret  of  thy  triumph.     Where  is  God, 
That  I  must  die  in  life's  Gethsemane?" 

And,  smiling  then,  you  answered,  bending  low, — 
"Dear    child,    that   mindest   things    of   little 
worth, — 

Gethsemanes  are  gardens  where  we  grow, 

And  what  seems  death  may  be  diviner  birth. 


[16] 


"Not  what  we  bear,  but  how,  makes  weak  or 

strong; 
From  Love's  lone  grave  immortal  Faith  shall 

spring. 

Who  walks  with  God,  enduring  direful  wrong, 
Hath  surest  right  to  triumph  and  to  sing." 

You  passed,  and  peace  I  could  not  understand 
O'er  all  my  grief  like  golden  glory  lay, 

And  lo !  with  blessed  Comfort,  hand  in  hand, 
I,  too,  went  singing  up  the  homeward  way. 


[17] 


IF  YOU  KNOW 

IF  you  know  where  the  tenderest  breezes 

Tarry  from  morning  till  night, 
With  singing  as  sweet  as  the  sea's  is — 

Wanton  and  wild  with  delight — 
Then  you  know  where  the  face  of  my  lover 

Beams  with  a  beauty  divine ; 
And  the  heart  of  your  heart  hath,  moreover, 

Part  of  the  secret  of  mine. 

If  you  know  where  the  blossom  uncloses, 

That  floodeth  the  soft-swelling  sod 
With  fragrance  as  rare  as  the  roses 

That  brighten  the  bosom  of  God, 
Then  you  know  where  the  feet  of  my  lover 

Pulse  with  a  passion  divine; 
And  the  heart  of  your  heart  hath,  moreover, 

Part  of  the  secret  of  mine. 

If  you  know  where  the  robin  no  longer 

Remembers  the  nest  on  the  hill, 
Where  she  tarries — grown  suddenly  stronger- 

To  catch  a  new  chorus  and  trill, 
Then  you  know  where  the  voice  of  my  lover 

Rises  in  rapture  divine ; 
And  the  heart  of  your  heart  hath,  moreover, 

Part  of  the  secret  of  mine. 


[18] 


If  you  know  where  I  sit  with  my  fingers 

Tangled  up  fair  with  the  moon's, 
Keeping  the  twilight  that  lingers 

Tender  with  touches  of  tunes, 
Then  you  know  where  the  heart  of  my  lover 

Is,  in  this  moment  divine; 
And  the  heart  of  your  heart  hath,  moreover, 

All  the  sweet  secret  of  mine! 


[19] 


DAYBREAK 

DAYBREAK  is  folding  the  fair,  faint  sky ; 
Quiet  is  compassing  sea  and  shore; 
Only  a  delicate,  dolorous  sigh 
Stirs  where  my  Saintliest  sails  no  more. 

Here,  last  Summer,  at  dusk  and  dawn, 
I  kissed  her  asleep,  and  I  kissed  her  awake; 
And  lightly  mY  low  laugh  leaped  to  the  lawn, 
Clasping  her  close  for  my  sweet  love's  sake. 

Ah,  me !  for  Weariness  walks  the  way 
My  feet  must  follow  to  find  their  re--  : 
And  a  cry  is  crushed  in  my  heart,  to-day, 
For  a  something  missing  from  off  my  breast. 

Whence  is  it  taken?     What  calmful  clime 
Thrills  to  the  wooing,  wonderful  tone, 
Whose  sweets  were  woven  with  every  rhyme 
My  soul  sent  sailing  from  zone  to  zone, 

In  the  days  departed?     If  I  could  reach 
My  helpless  hands  where  the  high  harps  be, 
If  my  feet  were  firm  on  the  evergreen  beach, 
Would  the  long-lost  comfort  come  back  to  me? 


[20] 


BARBARA 

SHE  sits  in  the  twilight,  busily  knitting, 
The  kitchen  behind  hej  is  dingy  and  old, 

And  up  where  the  day-blind  bats  are  flitting, 
You'll  find  the  rafters  covered  with  mold. 

But  little  of  this  is  Barbara  thinking: 
Her  life  has  folded  its  dreariness  up, 

And  laid  it  away  out  of  sight.     She  is  drinking 
from  an  old-time  memory  cup. 


She  is  going,  hand-in-hand,  with  her  lover  — 

As  true  a  lover  as  ever  was  born  — 
Up  through  a  meadow  of  milk-white  clover, 

Edging  a  valley  of  tasseling  corn. 
The  birds  pipe  low,  and  the  winds  pipe  lower  : 

The  bees  are  busy  among  the  blooms, 
And  the  feet  of  the  brook  go  slower  and  slower 

On  through  the  heart  of  the  gathering  glooms. 

And  they  love  each  other!     The  world  before 
them 

Lengthens  away  like  a  flowery  lea, 
Sweeter   to   them   than   the   heaven   that's   o'er 
them, 

Fairer  than  ever  that  heaven  may  be. 
They  love  each  other!     They  walk  together! 

And  what  is  there  more  of  heaven,  I  pray, 
For  those  in  the  evermore  summery  weather, 

If  Love  would  linger,  or  Time  would  stay? 

[21] 


But  time  stays  never  for  call  or  crying, 

And  Barbara  follows  its  quick  tides  on — 
On  and  away  where  the  rocks  are  lying 

That  wreck  and  ruin  at  dark  or  dawn; 
And  she  kneels  again,  with  her  long  hair  over 

The  bosom  where  never  a  pulse-beat  is, 
Her  hand  on  the  dead-white  hand  of  her  lover, 

Her  lips  as  numb  and  as  dumb  as  his. 

Oh,  Barbara!  Barbara!     Come  back  quickly, 

While  you  have  life,  from  that  memory-way ; 
For  ghosts  of  the  old  time  glide  there  thickly, 

With  smiles  that  stifle  and  swords  that  slay. 
Come  back,  and  dream  of  a  day-dawn  breaking 

Over  some  beautiful  land,  somewhere, 
Where  your  feet  will  wander  ere  long,  forsak 
ing 

The  shadowy  shores  of  the  world  of  care. 

Barbara!    Barbara!     Never    she    answers; 

Her  hands  lie,  listlessly  crossed,  in  her  lap, 
And  the  wind — the  daintiest,  dearest  of  danc 
ers — 

Comes  from  his  revel  and  kisses  her  cap, 
Dropping  down  tenderly  into  her  bosom, 

Where  a  heart  lieth  as  heavy  as  lead, 
Odors  of  white  clover,  leaflet  and  blossom — 

Barbara — Barbara  Allen — is  dead! 


[22] 


OUR  LADY  OF  SOXG 

THROUGH  a  silence,  vouchsafing  no  token 

Of  comfort  for  brow  or  for  breast ; — 
To  a  soul,  that,  with  purpose  unspoken, 

Was  shaken  of  Sorrow  represt; 
Came  the  bountiful  Bethlehem  Brother, 

Saying :  "Fear  not  the  flood  or  the  fire, 
But  take  the  young  child  and  its  mother 

To  the  land  of  a  nation's  desire. 

"She  shall  sing — and  the  angels  will  listen ; 

She  shall  weep — and  the  heavens  will  lean 
To  catch  the  new  tintings  that  glisten 

Her  long,  languid  lashes  between. 
For  the  soul  of  the  child  is  anointed 

For   service — responsive   to    call — 
And  the  sum  of  its  duties  appointed 

By  the  marvelous  Maker  of  all. 

"Follow  me!" 

— And  they   followed — with  faces 

Set  Westward — by  night  and  by  day, 
Past  the  pines — past  the  plains — to  the  places 

Where  Padres  were  kneeling  to  pray. 
What  minded  they,  then,  the  forsaking 

Of  all  the  old  Lares  of  home, — 
With  the  "wireless,"  within  them,  awaking 

Swift  answers  from  Heaven's  high  dome? 

[23] 


This  was  home! — and  the  sea — music  laden- 

That  guardeth  a  world's  Golden  Gate, 
Gave  his  secret  of  song  to  the  maiden 

And  taught  her  to  patiently — wait. 
For  the  rest?— O,  the  rest!     It  is  lettered 

Where  Right  is  evolving  from  Wrong: 
And — Here's  to  a  Spirit  unfettered, 

To  Ina — Our  Lady  of  Song! 


[24] 


"IN  THE  OLD  LIKENESS" 

DOUGLASS,  my  Douglass,  O  hear  how  I  cry  to 

you, 

Facing  your  land  of  the  lupine  and  palm! 
Hear  how  I  cry  to  you,  longing  to  fly  to  you 

From  the  cold  heart  of  this  comfortless  calm. 
Call    me,    I    pray,    from    the    reeds    where    the 

robin, 

Swinging  and  singing  alone  to  his  mate, 
Stirs  my  slow  pulse  to  a  passionate  sobbing 
For  the  home-lilies  that  grow  by  the  gate. 
Oh!  at  the  gate,  love; 
Call,  for  I  wait,  love ; 
Call,  and  I  answer  at  breaking  of  day; 
Swift  to  your  bosom, 
O'er  hillside  and  blossom, 
Breeze-like  and  bird-like,  awake  and  away. 

Douglass,  my  Douglass,  O  hear  how  I  cry  to 

you ! 

Leave  me  no  longer  so  lorn  and  so  lone; 
Call  me  your  darling,  and  say  I  may  fly  to  you, 
Never  to  leave  you,  O  Douglass,  mine  own! 
Oh!  if  you  heard  the  winds  carry  my  sobbing 

Over  the  mountain  and  over  the  plain ! 
Oh !  if  you  heard  my  heart  heavily  throbbing, 
Under  its  burden  of  passion  and  pain ! 
Now,  at  the  gate,  love ; 
Call,  for  I  wait,  love; 

[25] 


Call,  and  I  answer  at  breaking  of  day ; 
Swift  to  your  bosom, 
O'er  hillside  and  blossom, 

Breeze-like  and  bird-like,  awake  and  away. 


[26] 


:\IY  LITTLE  LOVE 


MY  little  love,  asleep  so  far,  so  far 

Beyond  the  hills  I  can  not  cross  nor  climb, 
Forgetting  where  the  bees  and  wild  birds  are, 

And  minding  not  the  running  river's  rhyme — 
I  pray  you,  in  the  silences  grown  sweet 

And    full    of    heaven — since    having    you    to 

hold  — 
Dream  that  the  wind  hath  kisses  for  your  feet, 

Blown  from  my  heart  with  blessings  manifold. 

II 

The  palms  are  proud  above  me !  and  I  go, 

Singing,  across  the  laughter-loving  land, 
Yet  saying,  sometimes,  with  my  voice  dropped 

low: 

"If  only  she  could  wake  and  understand!" 
It  may  be  that  my  fancy  runneth  riot, 

Watching    the   wee   birds    peering   from   the 

nest ; 
But  O,  it  seemeth  often  in  the  quiet 

Your    light   breath    rocks    the   roses    on   my 
breast. 


[27] 


Ill 

And  so  I  say :  "My  love,  awake  so  far 

Beyond  the  skies  that  yet  I  may  not  climb, 
I  think  you  know  where  all  my  treasures  are ; 

I  think  you  hold  the  meaning  of  my  rhyme. 
I    think    you    stand,    this    moment,   warm    and 
sweet, 

And  reaching  dimpled  fingers  as  of  old, 
To  catch  the  kisses  for  your  face  and  feet, 

Blown   from  my  heart  with  blessings  mani 
fold." 

IV 

And  so  I  sing  with  brooks,  and  birds,  and  bees, 

Under  the  palms  and  where  the.  pampa  grows  ; 
Choosing  my  many  friends  from  them  and  these 

And  from  wild  winds  that  seek  Sierra's  snows. 
And  so  I  wear  the  raiment  of  delight ; 

And  so  I  walk  with  glad,  unfaltering  feet ; 
And  so  I  wait,  till,  past  the  day  and  night, 

Finding  my  love,  I  find  my  life  complete. 


[28] 


MARGUERITE 

SHE  made  on  the  upland  a  picture  that  never 

an  artist  could  paint, 
Sandaled  with  sheen  of  a  sunset — crowned  with 

the  calm  of  a  saint. 

Her  face  from  the  face  of  her  lover  turned, 
touched  with  a  breath  from  the  sea : 

Her  heart  held  the  words  of  her  lover:  "The 
cup  is  most  bitter  for  me !" 

"'The   cup   is   most  bitter?'"   she  echoed.     "I 

know  it,  O  tenderest  friend; 
And  the  way  stretches  darkly  before  you;  but 

you  will  go  straight  to  the  end." 

"  'To  the  end?'  and  what  then?"— all  the  doubt 
of  his  soul  surging  into  his  tone — 

"Missing  you,  though  I  journey  with  angels,  I 
journey  forever  alone!" 

"You'll  not  miss  me,"  she  said  smiling  softly,  her 

eyes  on  the  opal  afar, 
Their  light  burning  steadily,  clearly,   as  once 

burned  the  Bethlehem  star, 

And  all  her  poor,  pitiful  pallor  that  told  its  own 
story  of  strife, 

Flushing  warmly,  as  if  for  an  instant  some  ser 
aph  had  kissed  it  to  life. 
[29] 


"Dear  friend,  you'll  not  miss  me — since  fetters 
were  fashioned  for  only  the  clay — 

Since  love  is  immortal  as  God  is — since  we  two 
are  wedded  for  aye. 

"You  go  where  the  night  is,  and  with  you  a  sor 
row  more  deathful  than  death ; 

But  you  follow  the  white  feet  of  Duty — your 
hand  in  the  white  hand  of  Faith. 

"And   you   will    bear    bravely   the    tempest    of 

agonies  sharper  than  hail, 
Nor  shrink  from  the  sands  of  the  desert — nor 

falter  where  others  would  fail. 

"For   you   are   my   hero,   beloved,   my   king — 

among  cowards  of  men — 
And  the  time  is  not  long  to  the  sunrise;  wait, 

work  and  be  brave  until  then." 

"You  walk  with  the  angels,  my  darling — you 

echo  their  music,"  he  said, 
A  smile  on  his  lips,  such  as  lingers  sometimes  on 

the  lips  of  the  dead. 

And  so,  on  the  upland,  they  parted ;  dim  shadows 

stole  into  the  skies ; 
Only  the  chill  of  her  fingers  answered  the  prayer 

in  his  eyes. 

[30] 


HOW  SHALL  IT  BE? 

How   shall  it  be,  when — some  supernal  morn 
ing, 
Longed    for,    and    given    of    God's    abiding 

grace — 

Borne  by  a  breath,  and  with  no  note  of  warn 
ing,         ! 
On  unknown  paths,  we  two  meet  face  to  face. 

So  long  it  seems  since  you  went  sailing,  sailing, 
Far  on  a  sea  that,  yet,  I  may  not  cross; 

So  long,  since  pitying  breeze  brought  back  your 

hailing : 
"Life  is  but  love  and  love  is  never  loss." 

Often  when  dusks  on  all  the  hills  are  lying, 
And    ships    creep    homeward     through    the 
Golden  Gate, 

I  call  to  you  and  hear  your  low  replying: 
"Sing  and  be  glad,  and  still  in  patience  wait." 

And  I  obey,  nor  deem  the  waiting  lonely; 

Nor  fear  the  purpose  in  the  palms  of  Pain; 
Nor  loss,  nor  cross ;  my  stilled  soul  saying  only, 

"How  shall  it  be  when  we  two  meet  again?" 


[31] 


Waiteth  the  moment.     Waiteth,  too,  my  spirit, 
The    sure,    swift    passing    out    of    time    and 
shade ; 

The  larger  life  that  all  who  love  inherit, 
Nor  question  why  possession  was  delayed. 

And  I  shall  lift  my  face  and  lo !  the  glory 
Of  the  deep  eyes  that  won  me  long  ago, 

Wrapping  me  'round  with  splendor  of  the  story 
That  Seraphim  the  Blessed  may  not  know. 

And  you  will  say :  "We  have  been  parted  never 
Since  from  God's  hand  the  universe  was  flung 

Into  the  vastness  of  His  own  Forever 

And  all  the  stars  together  swung  and  sung. 

"We    have    been    wedded-wanderers    down    the 
ages; 

Spirits  of  hill  and  vale,  of  sea  and  sky ; 
Dream  of  the  poets,  marvel  of  the  sages, 

Born  and  reborn  of  low  degree  and  high. 

"And  what  seemed  death  was  but  the  onward 
moving 

Of  forces  mightier  than  the  creature  man ; 
Was  but  the  Law's  fulfilling  and  the  proving, 

However  partial,  of  the  Perfect  Plan. 


[32] 


"See,  O  mine  own!     From  heights  around  and 
o'er  us 

The  signal  lights  are  flashing  to  and  fro ; 
And  Love  calls  low,  to  Life  that  lies  before  us. 

It  is  enough. — Beloved,  let  us  go." 


[33] 


UNDER 

"Down   all   the   stretch  of   Hell  to   its  last   Gulf 
There  is  no  shape  more  terrible  than  this." 

"The  Man  with  the  Hoe." 

LOOK  into  that  "last  gulf,"  O  poet,  I  pray  thee, 
Down,  down  where  its  nether  cave  leans, 
And  find  there,  God  help  us,  a  "shape"  to  gain 
say  thee, 

A  "shape"  that  affrighteth  the  fiends. 
And  listen !  O  listen !  for  through  all  the  thunder 
A  voice  crieth — heavy  with  woe : 
"I,  I  am  the  woman!  the  woman  that's  under 
The  heel  of  "The  Man  with  the  Hoe." 

"I  am  the  begotten  of  derelict  ages ; 

Of  systems  senescent  the  flaw; 

I  am  the  forgotten  of  poets  and  sages, 

The  creature  of  Lust  and  of  Law. 

A  breeder  of  burdens,  of  sorrows  unspoken, 

Condemned — without  power  of  appeal, 

I — I  am  the  Spirit  of  Womanhood  broken 

On  the  Centuries'  Juggernaut  wheel. 

"Thucydides  wrote  of  me:  'She  is  more  evil 
Than  waves  where  the  cataracts  dwell' ; 
Jerome:  'She  is  only  inspired  of  the  devil'; 
St.  John :  'She's  the  entrance  to  Hell.' 
The  Hebrew,  the  Christian — O,  they  plowed  the 
furrows 

[34] 


In  faces  God  made  to  be  fair! 
And  down  the  long  ages  kept  building  the  bur 
rows 
That  silenced  the  voice  of  Despair. 

"Yet  somewhere  the  Day  is — and  somewhere  the 
burden 

Shall  fall  from  the  spirit  of  man, 

And  Justice  be  Justice!  for  Love  giveth  guer 
don 

And'  Life  hath  its  Infinite  Plan. 

The  tale  of  the  'Terror,'  the  'Ox's'  brute 
brother, 

Can  never  be  told  overmuch.       ; 

But  oh,  for  the  vassal  and  woe  for  the  mother, 

The  thrice  accursed  mother  of  such !" 


Look  into  that  "last  gulf,"  thou  newest  evangel, 

Thou  builder  of  ladders  for  men, 

And  find  there  the  pale,  pleading  face  of  an 

Angel 

That  Woos  thee,  thou  Prince  of  the  Pen! 
And,  sometimes,  a  little,  though  half  the  world 

wonder, 

And  critics  cry  high  and  cry  low, 
Sing   thou   for  the   woman!   the  woman  that's 

under 
The  heel  of  "The  Man  with  the  Hoe." 

[35] 


FOR  LOVE'S  SWEET  SAKE 

HERE,  where  the  waves  make  answer 
To  every  wind  that  calls, 

Where  the  sea-birds  bide 

When  the  ebbing  tide 
Leaveth  the  weed-wound  walls, 

Where  the  hours  are  fleet 

And  the  hours  are  sweet, 
And  life  like  a  loveful  song, 

He  made  me  a  bower 

Of  fern  and  of  flower, 
And  hid  me  a  whole  day  long. 

O,  but  we  heard  the  waters 
Mocking  the  moveless  ships  ! 

And  we  saw,  in  a  dream, 

The  glow  and  the  gleam 
Of  myriad,  musical  lips, 

That  stirred  in  the  shade 

The  lily  leaves  made — 
Neither  asleep  nor  awake — 

And  no  one  was  near 

To  harm  or  to  hear 
If  he  kissed  me  for  Love's  sweet  sake. 

So,  he  kissed  me!     Whisper  it  softly — 
Windlets,  never  asleep! 
Till  all  the  white  clover 
Hears  over  and  over 

[36] 


My  secret  too  sweet  to  keep ; 

Till  all  the  green  grasses 

The  meadow-brook  passes, 
And  all  the  bright  blooms  of  the  brake, 

Are  glad  and  are  gay, 

For  forever  and  aye, 
That  he  kissed  me  for  Love's  sweet  sake. 

This  is  the  bower  he,  built  me ! 
Dainty  and  dear  it  is, 

With  song  of  the  sea, 

Of  bird  and  of  bee 
Woven  with  song  of  his, 

And  filling  my  breast 

With  infinite  rest 
Whether  I  sleep  or  wake ; 

While  my  lips  laugh  low, 

"All  the  saints  may  know 
He  kissed  me  for  Love's  sweet  sake !" 


[37] 


TO  THE  SPIRIT  OF  SONG 

WITH  bosom  where  burdensome  breath  is, 

From  rocks  where  a  beautiful  bark 
Lieth  wreck'd  in  the  caverns  where  death  is, 

I  rise  like  a  ghost  in  the  dark, 
Crying  out  to  thee,  Come  from  thy  palace, 

Thy  palace  where  praises  belong, 
And  hold  to  my  white  lips  thy  chalice, 

O  comforting  Spirit  of  Song! 

O'er  the  path  of  my  past  thou  hast  fluttered 

Sometimes  like  a  breeze  o'er  the  sea, 
And  a  few  of  all  words  I  have  uttered, 

Had  in  them  a  little  of  thee. 
It  is  not  enough !     Do  the  shadows 

Of  ships  that  are  stately  and  strong 
Save  the  drowning?  or  dreams  of  old  meadows 

Where  home  is  ?  O  Spirit  of  Song ! 

Nay,  nay !  hold  me  hard !  I  am  done  with 

All  things  that  the  world  deemeth  dear; 
All  dreams  that  my  lone  life  begun  with 

Forever  and  ever  end  here — 
Save  its  one  dream  of  thee.     Lo !  I  cover 

Them  carefully,  crying  to  thee : 
Be  more  than  a  mother  or  lover, 

Henceforth  and  forever  to  me ! 


[38] 


Be  life  of  my  life !  be  the  duty 

That  life's  weary  way  making  sweet ! 
Be  brightness,  be  bloom  and  be  beauty, 

Be  calm  and  be  comfort  complete! 
Forgetting  to  weep  or  to  wonder, 

Grown  quiet,  majestic  and  strong, 
Let  me  be  like  an  immortelle  under 

Thy  mantle,  O  Spirit  of  Song! 

Hand  in  hand  let  us  con  the  old  pages 

By  poet-souls  written  and  read ; 
Heart  to  heart  let  us  traverse  old  ages 

By  poet-lips  never  named  dead ; 
By  a  ladder  more  rosy  than  roses, 

'Neath  banners  by  angels  unfurled, 
Let  us  climb  where  heaven's  portal  uncloses 

High  over  a  wondering  world. 

Behold  me!  I  lay  on  thine  altar 

All  days  and  all  deeds  I  have  loved ; 
All  faith  that  my  soul  has  seen  falter; 

All  loves  I  have  proved  or  disproved. 
And  I  swear  by  my  life  that  was  lonely, 

By  my  soul  that  with  thee  waxeth  strong, 
Evermore  to  be  thine,  and  thine  only, 

Thou  comforting  Spirit  of  Song ! 


[39] 


DOWERED 


A  WIND  came  this  morning  from  over  the  river 

And  brought  me  a  legion  of  things 
To  be  hidden  and  hidden,  forever  and  ever, 

Away  under  memory's  wings. 
And  I — with  my  tresses  blown  fuller  of  sweet 
ness 

Than  ever  the  lips  of  the  sea, 
Leaned  over  my  casement  in  rapture's  complete 
ness, 

To  take  what  he  gave  unto  me. 

II 

There  were  whispers  of  waters  and  little  wild 

snatches 

Of  songs  sung  alow  to  a  shore, 
Where,  dreaming  and  dreaming,  a  young  lover 

watches 

For  one  who  returns  nevermore. 
There  were  promises  broken  and  fragments  of 

speeches 

And  something  that  sounded  like  tears ; 
A-dripping  and  dripping  down  over  the  beeches 
That  keep  all  the  secrets  of  years. 


[40] 


Ill 

And  yet,  oh,  and  yet,  as  I  listened  and  listened, 

I  caught  the  light  laughter  of  leaves 
That  swung  in  the  sunshine,  that  glistened  and 

glistened 

O'er  swallows  asleep  in  the  eaves; 
The   eaves    of   a   cottage  where,    climbing   and 

climbing, 

The  jessamine  bloomed  as  of  old, 
When  I  sat  in  its  shadow  a-rhyming  and  rhym 
ing 
About  the  young  buttercups'  gold. 

IV 

And  over  and  over  the  meadows  of  clover 

And  hilltops  so  green  and  so  grand, 
I  wandered  again  with  my  lover,  my  lover, 

The  bonniest  lad  in  the  land, 
Forgetting  the  fire,  the  famine,  the  fever, 

Forgetting  the  torture  of  tears — 
"Give  love,  and  love  only,  forever  and  ever!" 

I  cried  to  the  manifold  years. 


[41] 


V 

To  the  manifold  years  that  were  leaning  unto 

us 

From  arches  of  splendor  afar, 
And  happily,  happily,  seeking  to  woo  us 

Where  never  the  red  roses  are. 
Sweet  was  the  dreaming — no  matter  what  came 

of  it- 
Sweet  was  the  tasseling  corn; 
Sweet    was    the — something! — no    matter    the 

name  of  it — 
Heard  by  the  merry  May  morn. 

VI 

Ah !  softly  and  softly,  down  over  the  river, 
Droop  the  dark  shadows  to-night! 

But  all  the  wild  willows  they  shiver  and  shiver 
As  if  they  were  stricken  of  fright ! 

And  I — with  my  tresses  blown  fuller  of  sadness 
Than  ever  the  lips  of  the  sea — 

Lean  over  my  casement  to  phantoms  of  glad 
ness, 

And  take  what  they  give  unto  me. 


[42] 


ON  THE  SHORELAND 

WIND  that  I  know  not,  if  nothing  will  stay  you 

From  my  own  lattice  where  moonlight  is  fair, 
If  nothing  will  stay  you,  be  wary  I  pray  you, 

How  you  sail  into  and  out  of  my  hair. 
Let  it  be  lightly  for  love  of  the  loving ; 

Let  it  be  softly  for  sake  of  the  sweet ; 
Lightly   and  softly  forever,  O   roving 

Wind,  from  the  Somewhere  where  mysteries 
meet, 

For,  when  my  darling  one  sailed  to  Vanesses, 

Over  the  heart  of  the  treacherous  sea, 
He  left  in  my  tresses  a  world  of  caresses — 

True  as  the  truest  of  lovers'  may  be. 
And  in  the  night-time  when  sleep  cometh  softly, 

And  in  the  morning  when  sunrise  is  sweet, 
I  whisper  a  prayer  for  him  oftly  and  oftly, 

Adding,    "God    hasten    the    hour    when    we 
meet!" 

Years  they  are  coming,  and  years  they  are  go 
ing* 

Still  not  a  sign  of  his  ship  on  the  sea, 
And  in   the  waves  flowing  not  anything  show 
ing 
What  it  is  keeping  my  darling  from  me. 


[43] 


Oh!  but  to  see  his  white  sails  in  the  harbor! 

Oh !  but  to  hear  his  call  answering  mine ! 
Oh!  for  his  feet  in  my  jessamine  arbor! 

Oh!  for  the  raptures  of  days  of  lang  syne! 

What  shall  I  do?     Oh !  will  any  one  tell  me 

What  I  shall  do  with  my  heart  that  is  his, 
When  it  calleth  for  comfort,  with  cryings  that 
kill  me, 

Hard  from  the  heart  of  the  waiting  that  is? 
What  shall  I  do  with  its  desolate  aching? 

What  with  its  pulses  of  passionate  pain? 
What  with  its  bondage,  and  what  with  its  break 
ing, 

If  he  comes  back  to  me  never  again? 

I  will  say,  "Father,  whose  palm  hath  the  pil 
lows 

Of  the  dear  sleepers  on  shoreland  and  sea, 
Guarding  the  willows  and  guarding  the  billows, 

Give  of  thy  pity  a  little  to  me ! 
And,  till  the  hour  when  death  cometh  kindly, 

And,  till  the  morning  forevermore  fair, 
Feeling  my  way  to  him  through  the  dark  blindly, 

Leave  me,  for  comfort,  his  kiss  in  my  hair." 


[44] 


BEFORE  THE  BALL 

I  AM  here  in  the  purple,  black  twilight; 

My  room  as  you  left  it  remains ; 
The  pictures,  the  fountain,  the  flowers; 

The  gas  is  unlighted ;  it  rains ; 
And  the  wind  thro'  my  half-open  shutters 

Cries  lonesome  and  low  to  me,  dear, 
As  I  cry  to  you  through  the  darkness. 

Listen,  my  love !     Do  you  hear  ? 

Do  you  sit  as  I  sit,  with  a  wonder 

Growing  up  rank  in  your  heart — 
A  tare  in  the  grain  that  is  tasseled — 

Why  we  two  are  praying  apart? 
Do  you  lean  as  I  lean,  at  this  moment, 

From  darkness  to  darkness,  and  say, 
"O  spirit  of  Infinite  Goodness, 

Be  good  to  my  darling,  I  pray !" 

Ah,  well !     Over  there  in  the  corner 

I  can  see  by  the  fire's  faint  light, 
The  robe  of  most  delicate  amber 

That  I  am  to  dance  in  to-night. 
There's  garniture  gorgeous — a  snow-shine 

Of  pearls  and  of  point  applique ; 
And  yet,  O  I'm  wild  for  the  daisies 

That  darken  the  hills  far  away ! 


[45] 


I  want  the  light  lips  of  the  lilies 

On  my  lips  that  quiver  and  ache, 
All  the  white  bright  lips  of  the  lilies 

That  border  our  own  happy  lake. 
And  I  want  you,  O  darling  of  darlings ! 

O  one  world  of  all  worlds  mine  own! 
I  want  you  to  laugh  or  to  cry  to — 

And  still — O,  and  still,  I'm  alone ! 

They  are  lighting  the  myriad  burners 

At  Hasselman's  over  the  way ; 
The  crowd  is  beginning  to  gather; 

The  band  is  beginning  to  play; 
Hark !     What  a  throbbing  and  sobbing 

Of  melody  tender  and  sweet, 
Stirs  the  pulse  of  the  rose  on  my  bosom 

Till  it  sinks  in  a  swoon  at  my  feet. 

Hark  again !     O,  the  musical  army 

That  climbs  the  cold  steps  of  the  air 
To  storm  the  stronghold  of  my  spirit — 

It  gives  not  a  minute  for  prayer. 
It  has  me  and  holds  me,  a  captive 

Despite  all  my  wish  and  my  will — 
Afar  from  the  lake  and  the  lilies — 

Afar  from  the  daisy-decked  hill. 


[46] 


Yet,  somehow,  it  brings  you  the  nearer, 

And  the  dark  grows  suddenly  light ; 
The  heart  of  our  bird  in  his  prison, 

Like  mine  has  forgotten  the  night ; 
The  fountain  flows  freer ;  the  flowers 

Seem  swinging  in  sweetnesses  new; 
And  all  of  earth  fades  from  the  Heaven 

That  comes  with  the  music  and  you. 


[47] 


TO  SARAH  B.  COOPER 

WITH  GOLDEN  ARBUTILAN 

DEAR  hands,  so  ready  day  by  day, 

To  aid  the  weak  and  poor, 
To  point  the  helpless — gone  astray — 

To  Heaven's  wide  open  door ; 
Dear  hands,  upheld  by  Seraphim 

Through  all  the  burdened  hours, 
Here    in    the   twilight,   growing   dim, 
I  pray  you — take  my  flowers. 

Dear  lips,  whence  flow  the  purest  words 

That  thirsty  souls  may  drink, 
As  mountain  stream  and  song  of  birds 

To  gray-grown  river-brink; 
Dear  lips,  a-lean  to  gold  and  green, 

Where  God's  own  glory  is, 
From  silences  that  lie  between, 

I  pray  you — take  my  kiss. 

Dear  heart,  whose  holy  faith  and  trust 

Have   shown  God's  guiding  hand 
To  lives  half  blinded  by  the  dust 

Of  life's  most  lonely  land; 
Dear  heart!  whose  strength  was  born  of 
cries 

In   some  Gethsemane, 
When  moonlight  lies  athwart  the  skies 

I  pray  you — pray  for  me. 
[48] 


THROUGH  THE  SNOW 

ONE  April  sunset,  singing  with  the  streams, 
I  sought — upon  a  happy  hillside  slope — 

A  spot  that  I  dreamed  of  in  the  dreams 
Of  years  kept  calm  by  memory  and  hope. 

A  dainty  dimple  in  the  dear  hill's  breast — 
As  I  remembered — it  for  aye  had  been, 

A  dainty  dimple  by  the  winds  caressed — 
My  secret  folded  with  its  fairness  in. 

Laughing  a-low  I  leaned  there — parted  the  wet 
Bare   boughs   that   bent   beside  me   where  I 
stood, 

And  said,  "Ah,  surely  I  shall  here  forget 
The  famine  and  the  fever !     God  is  good." 

A  sudden  start — a  catching  of  the  breath — 
A  quick  down-dropping  of  the  hands,  for  lo, 

A  stillness  in  the  hollow  as  of  death, 
And  over  all  its  perfectness  the  snow. 

Prone  to  the  ground  (the  angels  pitying  me) 
I  fell  the  waving,  wondering  boughs  between, 

Clung    there    and    cried,    "Ah   God!    that   this 

should  be, 
When  all  my  heart  was  hungry  for  the  green. 


[49] 


"I  can  not,  can  not  bear  it !"  From  my  breath 
The  frail  snows  faded,  feverish  and  wet, 

And  'round  me  floated  from  the  world  beneath, 
The  longed  for  fragrance  of  a  violet. 

So,  to  the  snow  of  all  your  words,  my  friend, 
Found  in  the  letter  that  before  me  lies, 

My  soul  leans  crying,  "Christ!  is  this  the  end?" 
And  lo,  the  spirit  of  your  sacrifice 

Folds  every  fear  in  fragrance!  and  I  see 

(With  eyes  that  laugh,  albeit  their  lids  are 
wet) 

Ever  alive  and  ever  fair  to  me 

The  royal  purple  of  Love's  violet. 


[5C] 


MY  GIRL 


HARK  to  the  wind  that  passes, 

Hailing  the  hills— "Heigh-ho  !" 
See  how  the  long  lawn  grasses 

Shine  in  the  sunset  glow ! 

The  palm  trees  stately  and  strong  and  tall, 
Are  guarding  the  gates  of  the  garden  wall, 
While  over  and  under  and  all  about 
The  roses  are  whispering  in  and  out, 
"Oh,  she  is  near  to  us ! 
Oh,  she  is  dear  to  us !" 

Sighing  with  envy  of  me, 
Dying  with  envy  of  me, 
For  the  maiden  sitting  and  singing  there, 
With  goldenrod  in  her  golden  hair, 
The  maiden  dainty  and  dear  and  fair, 
Is  mine — my  girl! 

II 

Hark  to  the  sea  that  crieth, 

Missing  the  winds  that  creep 
Low  where  my  one  love  lieth, 
Singing  still  in  her  sleep ! 
The  moonlight  stealeth  under  the  stars, 
To  brighten  the  blooms  at  her  casement  bars; 
And  something  stirs,  in  an  answering  way, 
The  pulse  of  the  palms  where  I  kneel  and  pray : 
[51] 


"Let  her  be  near  to  Thee, 
Let  her  be  dear  to  Thee, 

Thou  that  lovest  us  all, 
Thou  that  provest  us  all! 
Be  mine  the  sorrow  for  love's  own  sake ; 
Be  mine  the  burden  for  two  to  take ; 
Let  my  heart  hunger  and  ache  and  break, 
But  spare  my  girl! 

Ill 

And  when  her  dream  is  over 
Under  the  skies'  soft  blue, 
When  never  for  friend  or  lover 

Is  anything  left  to  do; 
When  care  is  quiet  and  souls  are  free 
To  sail  as  a  ship  on  an  unknown  sea; 
To  soar  as  a  bird  or  to  shine  as  a  star, 
Where  Life's  interpreted  mysteries  are, 
O  by  the  mother-love 
Wiser  than  other  love ; 

By  the  pain  plead  for  me; 
By  the  blood  shed  for  me, 
Under  the  palm  trees  stately  and  tall, 
Guarding  the  gates  of  the  jasper  wall; 
Where  Love's  own  scepter  is  over  all — 
Give  me  my  girl! 


[52] 


AWAY  FROM  ME 

Do  you  find  the  heaven  I  can  not  reach, 

So  beautiful,  O  my  sweet ! 
That  ever  in  vain  the  sea-swept  beach 

I  search  for  your  small  white  feet? 
Or  is  it,  my  love,  that  the  angels  there 

Whom  neither  I  know  nor  see, 
Finding  you  fairer  than  all  the  fair, 

Hold  you  away  from  me? 

0  mine,  my  own !     If  I  had  you  back 
In  the  poor  place  over  my  heart, 

1  think  I  could  tread  the  thorniest  track 
And  never  a  tear  would  start. 

I  think  I  could  welcome  the  wildest  storm ; 

Could  laugh,  though  the  whole  world  wept, 
If  you  were  but  nestling  safe  and  warm 

Where  once  you  nestled  and  slept. 

\ 
But  the  raindrops  dimple  the  waves,  my  dear, 

And  I  am  alone,  alone, 
Listing  the  croak  of  the  ravens  near, 

And  wishing  my  heart  were  stone, 
For  it  aches  so  under  its  velvet  vest, 

And  dies — yet  never  is  dead — 
And  it  can  not  rise,  and  it  can  not  rest, 

Missing  your  fair,  young  head. 


[53] 


IN  EXTREMIS 

THE  hills,  they  are  hid  in  the  darkness ! 

The  darkness  is  heavy  with  rain ; 
The  rain  is  alive  where  my  heart  is, 

And  my  heart  is  alive  with  pain. 
Blow,  blossomless  wind,  from  the  billows 

That  wail  for  the  wrecking  of  ships, 
Blow  over  my  adamant  pillows, 

And  quiet  the  cry  of  my  lips. 

Let  hasten  what  may !     Will  it  matter 

When  Death  leaves  me  dead  in  his  track, 
That  Life  held  me  hard  in  its  clatter, 

With  body  and  soul  on  the  rack? 
Shall  I  mind,  in  the  ages  of  slumber 

That  nothing  can  brighten  or  break, 
What  I  missed  in  the  moments  whose  number 

Had  little  to  give  or  to  take? 

Nay,  nay !  for  the  dreams  that  enthralled  me 

(Poor  dreams,  though  as  sweet  as  the  sun) 
And  the  clanking  of  fetters  that  galled  me, 

All,  all  will  be  over  and  done. 
Blow,  blossomless  wind,  from  the  billows 

That  wail  for  the  wrecking  of  ships, 
Blow  over  my  adamant  pillows 

And  quiet  the  cry  of  my  lips. 


[54] 


LAST  WORDS 


AT  sunset  of  to-morrow  you  will  stand, 

Dear  friend,  with  sweet  eyes  turning  back  to 

me, 
Remembering  how  you  stood  and  held  my  hand 

In  this  sad  hour  by  the  sadder  sea, 
We  have  few  words  at  parting — you  and  I — 

A  little  smiling  of  unquiet  lips, 
Some  commonplaces  and  a  low  good-bye — 

With  eyes  upon  the  far-off,  fading  ships — 
Are  all  that  could  be  told  of  if  the  world 

Told  all  to-morrow; — all  there  is  to  tell. 
The  mists  of  meeting  round  about  us  curled 

But    yesterday;    to-day? — no    matter!    it    is 
well. 

II 

You  go  to  brave  life's  battle  for  us  both ; 

To  bear  the  burden  and  the  heat  of  years 
That — leaning  from  the  far-away,  seem  loth 

To  yield  us  fruits  not  nurtured  by  our  tears. 
There  may  be  calms  and  comforts  manifold 

Lying  beneath  what  seems  to  us  to-day, 
The  blackness  of  a  bitterness  untold 

Shrouding   the   sweets   of  many   a   bloomful 
May. 

[55] 


We  can  not  know.     We  touch  poor  palms  and 
part 

In  this  sad,  sunset  hour — you  and  I — 
Some  struggling  cries  held  silent  in  the  heart 

And  on  the  lip  a  simple,  slow  "good-bye!" 


[56] 


WINTER  VIOLETS 

THESE  tender  violets,  my  friend, 
That  underneath  my  window  grew, 

Sweet  as  your  dreams  are,  dear,  I  send 
Across  the  many  hills  to  you. 

I  kissed  them  lightly,  and  I  said: 

"She  cannot  find  the  flowers,  I  ween ; 

She  cannot  hear  the  warm  wind's  tread, 
Nor  laughter  from  the  leaflets  green. 

"No  roses  deck  her  garden  wall, 
No  robin  sings  beside  her  door; 

She  cannot  hear  the  brooklet's  call 

Save  in  a  dream,  dreamed  o'er  and  o'er. 

"For  wide  and  wild  the  swift  storm  goes 
Across  the  land  that  holdeth  her, 

And  under  coverlet  of  snows 

Her  violets  cannot  smile  nor  stir. 

"So,  darling,  take  my  love,"  I  said, 
"And  take  my  kisses,  warm  and  true, 

And  bear  them  where  her  bright  young  head 
Bends  o'er  some  fancy  sweet  and  new; 

"And  say:  'One  sits  beside  the  sea; 

A-near  the  sunset  warm  and  sweet, 
Weaving  a  wooing  song  for  thee, 

And  waiting  for  thy  fair  young  feet  '  " 
[57] 


LOST 


THE  white  sails  come,  and  the  white  sails  go, 

And  the  days  drift  to  and  from  me, 
And  happiest  sprites  of  Autumnal  nights 

Drop  silverest  dews  upon  me. 
But  never  my  pulses  leap  and  thrill 

When  the  tell-tale  zephyr  passes, 
At   sound   of  thy  laugh   in   the   boat's  bright 
path, 

Or  sound  of  thy  feet  in  the  grasses. 

II 

But  over  the  glitter  of  goldenest  bars, 

When  the  winds  of  my  life  blow  chilly, 
My  heart  flutters  back  in  a  shadowy  track, 

To  the  land  of  the  rose  and  the  lily. 
And  once,  once  again,  O  beloved !  away 

Over  billow  and  blossoming  heather, 
Beside  the  low  streams  we   are  dreaming  our 
dreams, 

And  weaving  our  life-hopes  together. 


[58] 


Ill 

Ah,  darling!  my  face,  with  its  quivering  lips, 

Shut^  close  o'er  a  storm  of  sighing, 
Leans  whitely  adown  the  green  hills  where  the 
crown 

Of  my  life,  with  its  glory,  is  lying. 
And  the  white  sails  come,  and  the  white  sails  go, 

And  the  wind  sings  low  as  it  passes, 
For  lost  is  thy  laugh  from  the  boat's  bright 
path, 

And  gone  are  thy  feet  from  the  grasses. 


[59] 


IF 

IF,  when  the  morning  dawns,  my  dear, 

I  do  not  answer  to  your  call; 
If,  leaning  low,  you  cannot  hear 

The  slightest  stir  of  life  at  all, 
Go  not  with  sudden  cry  and  moan 

To  summon  all  within  the  place; 
But  kneel  beside  me,  dear,  alone 

And  kiss  my  hair  and  kiss  my  face, 
And  softly  say — the  while  you  weep — : 

"He  giveth  His  beloved — sleep." 


[CO] 


A  LESSON 

"WAIL,  your  wild  notes  over  and  over, 

Bonnie  bright  bird,  in  the  sycamore  tree; 

For  long,  too  long,  like  an  unloved  lover, 

Has  the  wind  been  teasing  and  torturing  me ! 

I  am  a-weary  of  working  and  weeping; 

Sing  me  to  quiet  and  sing  me  to  sleeping; 

Let  your  low  numbers  float  lightly  to  me, 

Bonnie  bright  bird,  in  the  sycamore  tree!" 

Thus,  in  the  shadows,  prayed  a  lone  maiden, 
Leaning  her  face  from  the  bosom  of  care, 

While  the  wind,  sweetly  and  heavily  laden, 
Braided  his  heather-breath  in  with  her  hair. 

Lost   was    the    light    from    her   life   that    was 
dreary ; 

Lost  were  the  smiles  from  her  eyes  that  were 
teary ; 

Never  a  true  thing  to  treasure  had  she — 

The  fair  maiden  under  the  sycamore  tree. 

Down  from  the  dark  boughs  fluttered  the  robin, 

Furling  his  wings  on  the  folds  of  her  vest ; 
"Kindred  are  we,  dear,"  murmured  she,  sobbing 
Over  a  death-wound  she  found  in  his  breast. 
Still,  in  his  agony,  singing  and  singing, 
Never  his  wild  way  again  to  be  winging, 
Seeming  as  happy  as  happy  could  be, 
Died  the  bright  bird  'neath  the  sycamore  tree. 

[Gl] 


HAND  AND  HEART 

DEAR  hand,  so  sadly  missed  from  mine 

Through  years  of  wandering  here  and  there, 
I  pray  you  touch  with  tender  sign 

My  two  palms — bridged  by  golden  hair. 
Leave,  for  a  moment,  bud  and  bloom, 

Bright'ning  the  hills  I  cannot  see, 
And,  redolent  of  their  perfume, 

Drop  like  a  radiant  star  to  me ; 
For  here,  where  voices  come  and  go 

Across  the  silence  of  the  night, 

Where  winds  are  soft  and  waves  are  slow, 
I  covet  all  the  old  delight. 

And  if— O  little,  little  hand  I— 
If  you  upon  my  palm  should  lie, 

No  saint  in  any  saintly  land 

Could  dream  so  sweet  a  dream  as  I. 

Dear  heart,  forever  close  to  mine, 
Where  e'er  the  busy  hands  may  be, 

I  look  athwart  my  passion  vine 

Crying,  "God  is  good  to  thee  and  me!" 

I  sing,  a-low,  the  songs  we  sung 

Before  the  night  fell  and  the  snow ; 

And  once  again  the  world  is  young, 
And  once  again  the  roses  blow. 

[62] 


0  little  heart,  He  close  to  mine 

That  loved  thee  first  and  loved  thee  last- 
And  shall  love  on  through  storm  or  shine 

Till  all  the  Eternal  years  are  past — 
Lie  close,  sing  softly,  laugh  a-low, 

For  God  is  kind  to  thee  and  me; 
And  happiest  voices  come  and  go, 

And  life  is  sweet  on  land  and  sea. 


[63] 


HER  ANSWER 

GOOD-BYE!     There  have  been  tears,  and  kisses; 

These  are  my  last. 
No  more  a-wail  for  summer-bloom,  and  blisses 

Long1  ago  past — 
Stand  I  a-near  the  winter  with  its  snowing 

Hard  in  my  face; 

Blind,    breathless,    groping    in    the    dark,    yet 
knowing 

This  is  my  place. 

Good-bye!    God's    hand    upon    my    shadowed 
vision, 

Soon  will  give  light 
Somewhere,  the  break  of  day  that  is  elysian 

Waits  for  my  night. 
Shall  I — because  my  life's  one  dream  is  over, 

Shrink  from  life's  toil, 
Crying  because  I  can  not  scent  the  clover 

Sweet  from  the  soil? 

Nay,    nay!    I    were    unworthy    Heaven's    high 

keeping, 

Could  this  be  so; 

Dumb  as  the  dead,  and  cold — yet  without  weep 
ing, 

Whitely  I  go. 
No  bird,  upon  the  bough  above  me,  singing 

At  Love's  behest; 

No  star  its  radiance  to  my  pathway  flinging 
Still — it  is  best ! 
[64] 


Good-bye!     Thine   is   the   cup,   the   song,   the 
revel — 

(Mine  is  the  pain !) 
God  keep  thee  from  the  sorrow  and  the  evil 

Found  in  their  train. 
Turn  I  unto  my  winter  with  its  snowing 

Hard  in  my  face; 

Blind,    breathless,    groping    in    the    dark,    yet 
knowing 

This  is  my  place. 


[65] 


WHEN  THE  SHADOWS  COME  AGAIN 

WHEN  the  shadows  come  again 
Over  hill  and  over  plain, 
Creeping  through  the  lattice  bars 
Where  I  wait  to  watch  the  stars ; 
When  again  within  his  ring 
Bonnie  bird  forgets  to  sing — 
Wooed  from  riot  unto  rest 
By  the  dark  upon  his  breast, 
I  shall  listen,  O  my  sweet ! 
To  the  coming  of  your  feet, 
Saying,  "Soft !     He  hunts  the  hall, 
And  he  loves  me!"     That  is  all. 

When  the  shadows  come  again 
Over  hill  and  over  plain, 
Purpling  all  the  plaited  hair, 
You  have  called  so  fine  and  fair; 
When,  o'er  all  our  little  world, 
Is  the  wing  of  Night  unfurled, 
I  shall  feel  my  pulses  rise 
Past  the  heights  of  Paradise, 
List'ning,  leaning,  O  my  King! 
To  the  vows  you  say  and  sing; 
Praying,  "Angels !  do  not  call, 
For  he  loves  me!"     That  is  all. 


[66] 


UNMASKED 

I  PRAY  you  let  me  rest,  to-night! 

A  fever  is  on  my  cheek; 
My  hands  are  ice — my  lips  are  white ; 

I  haven't  a  word  to  speak. 

Don't  look  at  me  so!     Don't  linger  there 

Like  a  mourner  beside  a  bier ! 
Is  the  moon  still  shining?     How  sweet  you  are 

In  your  gossamer  gown,  my  dear! 

Just  loosen  my  girdle  a  little — so! 

And — here  are  my  jewels,  please. 
The  clock  on  the  mantel  ticks  so  slow, 

Draw  the  af'ghan  over  my  knees, 

And  lower  the  light.     Now  go,  my  dear, — 
You  are  looking  your  best  to-night. 

Waltz  once,  for  me,  with  the  Count  De  Vere 
And  drink  your  fill  of  delight. 

Your  life  hath  never  a  fleck  nor  spot ; 

Let  him  see  that,  sweet,  in  your  eyes ; 
Smile  as  you  listen — but  trust  him  not, 

For  his  words  and  his  ways  are  lies. 

Do  I  know?     No  matter  !     I  know  you,  dear, 
And  what  for  your  heart  is  best. 

Go  now.     Be  glad  that  you  leave  me  here 
Where  I  can  remember,  and  rest. 
[67] 


ELLEANORE 

WHERE  a  sycamore  bent  to  a  river's  edge, 

At  the  foot  of  a  flowery  hill, 
And  birds  swung  slow  in  the  swinging  sedge, 

With  their  songs  all  hushed  and  still, 
With  silences  over  her  lips  apart, 
With  somebody's  portrait  over  her  heart, 
With  nothing  to  trouble  and  nothing  to  task, 
Nothing  to  answer  and  nothing  to  ask, 
Fair — as  the  fading  out  of  the  day — 
Under  the  waters  asleep  she  lay. 

Out  from  the  woodland  crept  the  Dark, 

With  his  face  all  wild  and  wet, 
And  close  by  the  sycamore  stood  to  hark 

To  the  Wind's  and  the  Wave's  regret. 
"O,  she  was  my  darling !"  the  River  cried ; 
And  "She  was  my  darling !"  the  Wind  replied ; 
And  the  Dark  responded,  "She  was  my  love ! 
And  nothing  was  like  her,  below  or  above," 
And,  all  together,  "Alas !"  they  said, 
"What  is  there  left,  us? — the  queen  is  dead!" 

And  still,  with  the  portrait  over  her  heart, 

And  the  blue-black  waves  above, 
The  maiden  slept,  with  her  lips  apart, 

As  if  in  a  dream  of  love. 


[68] 


But  dreams  were  over  and  dreams  were  done ; 
And  the  moon  crept  off  in  the  wake  of  the  sun ; 
And  the  owlets  shrieked  and  the  Wind  replied, 
And  the  desolate  Dark  to  the  River  cried, 
And  nobody  sorrowed  and  nobody  said : 
"What  is  there  left  me?  my  love  is  dead!" 


[69] 


WITH  PANSIES 

"  'THESE  be  for  thoughts,'  my  gentle  friend," — 
She  said,  and  kissed  the  purple  blooms, — 

"For   tenderest   thoughts  where   dream-boughs 

bend 
To  fold  thee  in  their  faint  perfumes. 

"Let  swing  and  ring  of  marriage-bell 
Swept  from  the  merry  olden  time, 

Be  sweetest  sounds  that  sink  and  swell 
Where  roses  rock  and  rivers  rhyme. 

"Roses  of  Rest  thy  heart  hath  known ; 

Rivers  of  Peace  thy  soul  hath  sailed, 
Though  many  a  bird  of  Hope  has  flown 

And  many  an  anchorage  hath  failed. 

"I  give  thee  joy,  O  gentle  friend!" 

She  said,  and  kissed  each  purple  bloom, 

"God's  love  go  with  thee  to  the  end, 
And  on  His  bosom  give  thee  room." 


[70] 


IN  THE  WALTZ 

A  TENDER  tune  and  a  time  in  trance, 

Glitter  of  glasses  and  wealth  of  wine, 
And  afloat,  afloat  in  a  dreamy  dance, 

With  the  face  of  my  Baronet  close  to  mine. 
His  glances,  that  rival  the  gaslight  gleams, 

Burning  and  burning  my  lids  away ; 
But  I  hear  his  whisper,  as  one  in  dreams, 

And  my  lips  have  never  a  word  to  say. 

For  'round  and  'round,  as  we,  whirl  and  whirl, 

Under  the  banners  and  blooms  between, 
I  see  but  billows,  that  curl  and  curl 

'Round  capes  of  memory  fair  and  green; 
And  again,  again,  in  a  radiant  time, 

My  hand  in  yours,  that  is  kind  and  true, 
I  fly  from  the  measures,  that  climb  and  climb, 

Away  from  the  dancers,  alone  with  you. 

And  softly  and  softly  up  over  the  bay 

Comes  the  full  moon,  with  her  face  so  new, 
A-laughing  and  laughing  at  something  you  say, 

And  something  I  answer !  and  we  laugh,  too ; 
For  life  is  alive  and  love  is  awake ; 

The  moon  it  is  high  and  the  wind  is  low; 
You  give  me  a  kiss  and  a  kiss  you  take, 

And  there's  nobody,  nobody  nigh  to  know. 


[71] 


A  tender  tune  and  a  time  in  trance, 

Glitter  of  glasses  and  wealth  of  wine, 
And  I,  a-wail  for  the  one  romance 

I  lived  in  a  life  that  was  half  divine ! 
The  Baronet's  jewels  are  over  my  heart, 

The  Baronet's  name  I  honor  and  wear; 
But  love  "is  a  thing  from  our  lives  apart," 

And  neither  is  cruel  enough  to  care. 


[72] 


CAGED 

LITTLE  white  bird,  in  your  beautiful  prison, 

Fluttering  lonesomely  all  the  long  day, 
Beating  the  bars  till  your  plumage  is  crimson, 

Why  do  you  murmur,  and  what  do  you  say? 
"Low  laughs  my  love  from  the  heart  of  a  blos 
som; 

Free  are  her  pinions  to  furl  or  to  fly ; 
Light  lies  the  dew  on  the  down  of  her  bosom — " 

And  you  are  in  fetters?     So,  darling,  am  I! 

Gilded,  like  yours,  are  the  bars  of  my  prison; 

Weary,   like   yours,  with  their  waiting,   my 

wings ; 
And  far,  far  away,  in  the  calm  and  the  crimson 

Of  morning  eternal,  my  Beautiful  sings ! 
But  O,  when  the  daylight  the  buttercup  misses, 

I  lean  from  my  lattice  that  looks  to  the  seas, 
And  catch  the  rare  sweets   of  her  comforting 
kisses, 

Out  from  the  hold  of  a  paradise  breeze. 

Hush,     pretty     prisoner !     I     know     all    your 

sorrow ! 

I  know  how  your  pulses  quiver  and  ache ! 
How  your  heart,  with  no  hope  for  the  coming 

to-morrow 

In    the   wine-press    of   anguish   is   ready   to 
break ! 

[73] 


And  nobody  opens  the  door  of  my  prison, 
Beautiful  darling!  as  I  open  thine, 

Bidding   thee   fly  with   thy  bosom   of  crimson, 
Far  to  the  freedom  that  cannot  be  mine. 


[74] 


HITHERTO— HENCEFORTH 

FROM  out  the  blackness  long  enfolding  me, 
A  finger  beckoned,  and  I  followed  far 

O'er  wild,  wet  ways  that  wound  along  a  sea 
Where  ships  lay,  broken  on  an  alien  bar. 

I  heard  the  phantom-moaning  of  the  drowned; 

The  miserere  of  the  wind  and  wave ; 
An  answer  echoed  from  the  seas  profound 
.That  hath  but  sorrow  for  an  unknown  grave. 

And  all  my  soul,  in  agonizing  dread, 

Cried,  mightily,  to  high  gods  and  to  low, 

And  to  the  God  of  all  the  quick  and  dead 
To  save  me  from  sweet  Reason's  overthrow. 

And  lo,  again  the  finger !     Lo,  a  face  ! — 

With  eyes  ashine  as  Heaven's  effulgent  lights  ; 

And,  clearer  and  more  clear,  a  form  of  grace 
Outlined,  as  erst  in  dream  of  summer  nights. 

And  then  a|  wondrous  voice ! — to  me,  to  me! 

And  words  unspeakable  by  mortal  lips : 
A  marvel-message  !  filling  land  and  sea, 

And  goldening  the  white  sails  of  the  ships. 


[75] 


I  heard  the  call  of  myriad  astral-bells; 
Celestial  voices — hailing  in  their  flight 
The  souls  that,  straightway,  risen  from  their 

hells, 

Circled  and  soared,  then  vanished  from  my 
sight. 

All  unafraid,  and  crowned  as  none  before, 

I  felt  the  night  fall  from  me, — and  the  Dawn 

Of  Day-Eternal — mine  forevermore — 

A  greeting  gave,  and  golden  kiss  for  pawn. 

And  so,  full  panoplied  by  hosts  above, 

My  winged  feet  hastened  where  my  place  had 
been; 

For  home  still  held  the  vestal  light  of  Love, 
And  I — with  message  guarded — entered  in. 


[76] 


BETWEEN    TWO    YEARS 

A  SONG,  a  song  for  the  glad  New  Year ! 

How  our  pulses  quicken  and  leap 
As  the  sound  of  his  hurrying  feet  we  hear. 

Where  our  lilies  are  lying  asleep. 
Asleep — yet  holding  a  dream  of  winds, 

Of  wantonest  winds  and  low ; 
And  breaking  billow  that  sings  and  shines — 

In  their  bright  breasts  under  the  snow. 

O  sweet,  sweet  Earth!     We  have  drained  the 
wine 

Of  the  Old  Year's  bacchanal  feasts, 
Have  eaten  of  fruits  that  we  deemed  divine, 

In  the  populous  palace  of  priests ; 
Of  priests  that  ministered  marvelous  things, 

And  goodly  to  you  and  to  me ; 
But  the  past  is  past,  and  the  New  Year  sings 

In  the  ear  of  the  sun  and  the  sea. 

We  have  loved  and  have  laughed,  have  labored 

and  lost, 

Have  clung  to  the  green  grave-bands 
That   held,   and   are  holding,   the  pale   palms 

crossed 

But  a  bloom's  breadth  out  of  our  hands. 
And  still  there  struggles  one  truth  divine, 

From  the  wreck  of  pitcher  and  bowl ; 
From  crudest  crosses  there  drips  the  wine 
Of  saintliest  strength  for  the  soul! 
[77] 


And  so,  flash  up  through  your  covers  of  snow, 

A  face  full  of  laughter,  O  Earth ! 
With  brows  of  beauty,  and  lips  aglow 

With  nectar  of  music  and  mirth! 
And  shake  from  the  soul  of  your  sealless  seas, 

A  measureless  murmur  of  waves, 
That  shall  sweeten  the  death  in  your  chalice  of 
lees 

And  greaten  the  green  of  your  graves. 

For  darling,  my  darling,  the  New  Year  brings 

New  life  to  the  rivers  that  vein 
Your  own  bright  body,  and  under  his  wings 

Is  balm  for  my  bosom  and  brain! 
And  lilies  will  lighten,  and  birds  and  bees 

Will  be  fluttering,  fair  and  far, 
When  winds  are  wild  in  the  tangled  trees 

And  where  the  still  buttercups  are. 

Then  a  song,  a  song  for  the  glad  New  Year ! 

Let  the  bells  in  belfry,  and  tower 
Peal  madly  and  merrily,  cheer  upon  cheer, 

For  the  king  who  is  crowned  this  hour ! 

There's  a  sweep  of  raiment,  a  swoop  of  wings, 
And  there's  comfort  for  you  and  me ; 

For  the  past  is  past,  and  the  New  Year  sings 
In  the  ear  of  the  sun  and  the  sea. 


[78] 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


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THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
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217; 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


